


Third Time's the Charm

by demonology



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Fallen Castiel, First Kiss, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Sharing a Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonology/pseuds/demonology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A canon divergence where Castiel is pulled out of Purgatory without his Grace. When his newfound mortality makes it nearly impossible for him to join in on hunts, Castiel's left to struggle with human life. He encounters a familiar face who knows a way to get his Grace back, but it has a price, and that price involves Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Time's the Charm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dauntperplexity](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dauntperplexity).



> Written for the deancas_xmas challenge hosted on LiveJournal. 
> 
> I tried to keep this as low on the angst level as I could considering it involves fallen!Castiel. Hopefully it's a decent mix of humor and Cas being miserable. And sorry there isn't more Sam in it. Thanks so much to LJ user inplayruns for being a great beta!
> 
> Spoilers up through episode 807 of Supernatural.

Somewhere on the side of the road on the outskirts of Dunlap, Illinois in the United States of America on the planet Earth, Castiel woke up. 

He gasped and sat up. His vessel's muscles creaked and his chest thrummed with a bone-deep pain, hitting home that he was not himself right now. He did not know he was in Illinois because of some divine knowledge, but because he'd felt himself, as a burning hot ball of energy, get shoved through the gates of Purgatory and crash to the ground here. 

He wondered if the papers would report a falling star on this day. 

Something wasn't right, and he'd known that even before landing. As he'd left Purgatory, Castiel had felt his Grace splinter away from him—an agonizing process, like someone's very particles and cells pulling apart. The legends said that every angel Fell differently. Lucifer had violently fled Heaven, full of rage and righteous feelings. Anna had made a choice, had given up her wings for a life not her own. 

Castiel didn't know what had stripped his Grace away, but there was no denying that it was gone. That was the only way he could have made it back, and while he'd been delayed in following Dean, he was here now. 

So much of him had wanted to stay there, fighting the leviathans for the rest of his existence in order to endure punishment for all his wrongs. But he hadn't been given a choice by whoever or whatever had pulled him out, and perhaps that was the point. 

It took long hours of tired stumbling through the countryside, down a long dusty road with barely any cars on it, before he reached any sort of civilization. Still, somehow Castiel forced this body, that now grew tired and dirty, to a convenience store with a phone that he could use. 

Maybe they were used to strange people wandering into this town, or maybe they didn't care enough to ask after him. Castiel stared down at the phone's dial pad, thought of a time when he'd owned one of these, and searched through his memories for Dean's phone number. It should have come to him instantly—he should have just _known_ , but a lack of Grace brought up countless complications. 

Each ring seemed to sound in time with the harsh beating of Castiel's human heart (and it was his now, not Jimmy Novak's—somewhere along the way, Jimmy had been lost). Castiel's hand clenched tight around the plastic of the phone as he heard the fifth ring, and it shocked him when the plastic didn't crack in his grip. Humans had no strength, not really. 

“Hello?” Dean's voice finally answered, and the relief crashed into Castiel like waves on a shoreline. 

He caught his breath before replying. “Hello, Dean.” 

“Cas?” Dean's voice came back rough and strained, like it had been dragged through the dirt. 

“Yes, it's me.” Castiel didn't know what else to say, not when he didn't have wings by which to fly to Dean's side and prove it. 

“Wait. Where—what—” A controlled panic entered Dean's tone. 

“I'm unable to come to you.” Those words were loaded, and Castiel knew it, but Dean was going to have to take his word for it. He hoped he'd regained Dean's trust at some point down in that den of monsters. “I'm... in a town called Dunlap, in Illinois,” he finished flatly. 

“Illinois? Why there?”

Castiel sighed and turned away from the clerk. “I have no idea.” That was a lie, but an unimportant one. He had a guess as to why it was here, but it wasn't something Dean needed to hear now. “I need you to pick me up.” 

Dean let out a shaky laugh. “All right. Yeah. We'll get there as fast as we can. Lucky for you we're just a state over, so it should be a few hours tops.”

Castiel nodded. “I'll wait.”

\---

Waiting had been simple before. He could stand and stare off at nothing for hours and hours, and he had on multiple occasions, whether because the Winchesters required sleep or were questioning a witness or for whatever other reason.

But as Castiel sat out on the curb in front of the convenience store and watched the sun dip lower in the sky as people passed him by, he found that waiting was tiring now. His body ached, all the way out to his limbs, and he his eyelids drooped with fatigue. He had to fight and clench his hands into hard fists to keep his eyes open. 

He remembered sitting in that hospital bed toward the end of the averted Apocalypse, after he'd banished his siblings (and himself along with them), and knew this was exactly the same, if not worse. 

And this time, there might not be some last-minute revival to return his powers to him. He certainly wasn't counting on it.

By the time Castiel heard the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine, it was dark out and he had huddled into the scant warmth that his coat provided. He made sure to stand up straight as Dean parked the car. When Castiel saw Sam seated right next to Dean, just like the old days, he let out a breath and allowed his hands to hang loose and open at his sides. 

Both of them exited the car and Castiel drew closer, his feet shuffling against the pavement. Sam looked him up and down, seeming to take in his physical appearance, whereas Dean stared at him like he was a cold glass of water. 

But it didn't take long for that to all fade from Dean's face, replaced by a harsh frown. “Cas, what the hell?” 

“It's my Grace,” he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could reign them in. In a way, that was the worst part about being human. It was as if he was so filled up with sensations, physical and otherwise, that he couldn't hold it all in. 

“What about it?” Dean asked, even though he had to know already. 

Castiel frowned and stared down at his muddy shoes. “It's gone. That's the price I paid for coming back here.” 

Dean clenched his jaw. 

“How _did_ get out?” Sam asked.

“I don't know,” Castiel reiterated. “I felt myself being pulled away from that place, but I have no idea what force pulled me.” 

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, looking shaken and uncertain. “That can't be good.” 

Sam pressed forward and clapped a hand on Castiel's shoulder. “Let's not worry about that for now. If you're really out of juice, then you must be fried. Let's find a motel and, uhh, get you cleaned up.”

Castiel had to admit that sounded appealing.

\---

The first issue at hand was clothing. Once they got settled into a motel, Dean picked out an old shirt and worn pair of jeans and shoved them into Castiel's arms. “Take a shower,” he told him. “You stink.”

Castiel stared at the clothes, could even recall a time a few years back when he'd seen Dean in the shirt, and felt a strange warmth in his chest. 

He moved into the bathroom and spent about five minutes struggling with the shower settings before Dean barreled in and showed him what to do. Castiel quickly found his tolerance when it came to the temperature of water when he ended up first with ice cold water down his back, and then—after trying to compensate for that—scalding water that reddened his skin. 

Once he found a comfortable middle ground, he spent a long time under the water's spray. It was ridiculous. He was behaving like a human. He was doing human things. But in the end he knew he was only mimicking them, pretending in a way that would never seem natural to himself or anyone who watched him. Like a puppet trying to move its own strings. Like a parody, or a joke. 

It made his stomach roil and churn, and the fact that he could be betrayed by this body, influenced by its whims and reactions, only made it worse. 

But still, he tried. And the act of cleansing himself, of scrubbing soap over his skin and watching the dirty water disappear down the drain, was very cathartic. 

So was toweling himself off afterward. And by that very act, he became more aware of this vessel than he had ever been before. For the moment (perhaps forever—but he forced himself to believe it was temporary, it _had_ to be), he was trapped in this cage of skin and bone. He wondered if he would suffocate in it, because an angel did not fit properly into human form and never would. 

Castiel changed into Dean's clothing and then wandered out into the main room. 

When Dean saw him, he cracked a smile. “Not half bad, actually.”

\---

Somehow, all three of them had forgotten that Castiel being Fallen meant he would also need to sleep, and so he was forced to pass out in the motel room's chair. Dean had offered his bed, but Castiel had refused. (Sam had given Dean a sharp look that prevented it from turning into a full-blown contest of who was the most self-sacrificial.)

However, when morning came and Castiel dealt with the grating experience of an alarm going off, all he wanted to do was sleep longer. Dean tried to shake him awake a few times, but when Castiel groaned in protest and did his best to fold himself up into a more comfortable position in the chair, Dean left it alone. 

Sam and Dean went out—to get breakfast, most likely—and Dean told Castiel to take the bed if he wanted to sleep more. They all assumed that after the taxing experience of leaving Purgatory, his body needed to recharge. 

So Castiel collapsed into Dean's still-warm bed, breathed in his smell left on the sheets and the pillow, and slept. 

When he woke up, it was to Dean attempting to shove him awake again. “Cas, c'mon.”

Castiel shifted in the bed, felt his bones crack and his muscles stretch out, felt an ache in his back and neck from sleeping in that chair all night. He could still barely wrap his mind around the fact that these body parts were his. 

He stared blearily up at Dean, and realized this was supposed to be the other way around. He'd always watched Dean sleep. 

“It's one in the afternoon,” Dean said, and while he was making an effort to be admonishing, mainly he just looked concerned. 

Castiel nodded and sat up. He rubbed at his eyes and frowned when he felt an odd substance in them. He stared down at rough particles on his fingertips. 

Dean smirked. “Sleep dust. It's a human thing.” 

There were so many things to learn. Castiel liked to observe humans, but being one was another story. “I'm hungry,” he said after a pause. 

And so Sam ordered in a pizza and the three of them sat around and ate and enjoyed the fact that for once, they were all here. No one was being plagued by Lucifer in their head, no one had amnesia, all of their souls were intact, and while Castiel might no longer have his Grace, it was a small price to pay. 

That was what he told himself. Despite it all, he spent the rest of the day feeling drowsy, and when Sam and Dean decided to drive out that night, Castiel slept in the back seat of the car.

\---

It didn't take long for them to find a hunt. While they had other concerns, such as finding out what had pulled Castiel out of Purgatory and the ever-present problem of Crowley, one of the Winchesters' rules was that they always kept hunting.

As they sat in the booth of a roadside diner and Castiel perused the menu for something that sounded appetizing (an impossible feat for someone who hadn't eaten much of anything for the majority of his long existence), Sam stared down at a newspaper he'd picked up. 

“Dean,” Sam said, his tone taking that urgency it always did when he was onto something. 

Dean set down his mug of coffee and blinked blearily at Sam. “Yeah?” 

“Report of a guy found in the woods, mutilated, and...” 

“Wait,” Dean cut in, “I bet I can guess this one. Heart removed?” 

Sam nodded. 

“A werewolf,” Castiel muttered under his breath as the waitress came by to take their order. 

Sam and Dean both ordered quickly, used to this routine, but Castiel stared at the words on the menu—scrambled, omelet, over-easy, nutella, hot links—and his mind blanked. 

“He'll have a steak and eggs,” Dean chimed in as he sent the waitress a winning smile. “Scrambled.” 

Castiel stared at Dean. “You didn't...” 

“Dude, it's food, not rocket science. You liked those burgers, right?” He clapped a hand on Castiel's shoulder. “Then you'll like steak.” 

“If you say so. So we're going to investigate this werewolf attack?” Castiel quickly changed the subject back to the familiar, the simple, the comfortable. A torn apart body and a missing organ, somehow easier than his choice of breakfast food. 

“Yeah,” Sam said. “We'll head down into town and check out the morgue after we eat.” 

And none of them blinked an eye at the idea of staring at a corpse right after breakfast.

\---

As they climbed the stairs to the hospital's entrance, Castiel's heart hammered harder in his chest and he fought for breath with each step that he took. He gripped onto the railing to help him up the last few steps, and then paused when they reached the top.

Dean, unfortunately, noticed. 

“Dude,” he said, circling back toward him, “I know you're used to flying around and all, but you're seriously getting winded from some stairs?” 

Castiel knew this wasn't normal. Maybe he wasn't used to exerting himself the way humans did, but that didn't excuse the fact that something as simple as this shouldn't have been a problem. He caught his breath, and straightened up, and shook his head. “I'm fine.” 

Something was wrong. But it wasn't something Dean could do anything about, so Castiel refused to let him worry. 

Thankfully, they took an elevator down into the morgue, and while Castiel found the lower temperature uncomfortable, he did his best to ignore it. 

The smell was also bad, cloying and thick. He thought of the rotting meat he'd eaten under Famine's influence and his stomach twisted in response. This, he also ignored. 

With the help of the mortician, they found the victim. Castiel crowded around with Sam and Dean as the mortician yanked a white sheet off to reveal the body of a middle-aged man. 

His face was peaceful enough, but the rest of his body was a mess, with chunks of skin missing and large claw marks rending their way down his chest. The hole in the middle of his chest was what grabbed Castiel's attention, with a splintered sternum and ribcage making the absence of his heart absolutely clear. 

“I don't envy whoever has to try and restore this one,” the mortician said with a sigh. 

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, but Castiel barely noticed that. As he leaned in closer to the body, he caught a whiff of it. He didn't know if it was the start of decay, or maybe simply the smell of death itself, but the sensory overload was strong enough that he jerked back and turned away. 

He clasped a hand to his mouth and ended up coughing—or was this choking? Dean was at his side in seconds. “Cas?” 

This was ridiculous. He'd killed humans and angels alike with his own hands and might, had spilled blood like it was what he was meant to do (and it was—or had been), and now he could barely manage standing around a corpse? 

“I'm fine,” he spat out again. “Are we done here?” 

As they left the hospital, Dean walked close at Castiel's side, and Castiel tried not to resent him for it. Dean was only worried for him, but Castiel didn't need to be coddled, Graceless or not.

\---

After some careful tracking work in the forest where the body had been found, the three of them located a building hidden away in the woods. Between a rickety old chest where fresh clothes were stored and claw marks gouging the walls, there was really no question that it was the place where the werewolf transformed

With the full moon not scheduled for another two weeks, they could do nothing but wait. 

They found a motel where they could pass that time. They had to get two rooms, seeing how Castiel slept up to twelve hours some days (and while they all tried to ignore it, they noticed). After some careful deliberation (which involved talk of profound bonds, and Dean lamenting because Sam was so gassy), Dean and Castiel agreed to share a double while Sam got a room to himself. 

Which Sam was incredibly smug about, to Dean's annoyance. 

Despite that, for the most part the three of them spent their time in the double room. They passed the two weeks by watching movies (a _lot_ of movies, from _Indiana Jones_ to _Mean Girls_ ). They finally went out to a mall and got Castiel some clothes of his own, so that he could stop wearing Dean's. (He'd felt uneasy about it, because having something that he owned, that belonged to him, was almost the same as admitting that he wouldn't get his Grace back.) Castiel found the local library and checked out books, non-fiction and fiction, and read them voraciously. (He tried not to focus on the fact that more often than not, he fell asleep in the middle of reading.) Dean put himself on a mission to have Castiel try all kinds of food, and daily pie tastings became a thing. Castiel learned that his favorite was pecan, but that he actually preferred savory pies. (Dean called him a heathen and un-American for that. Castiel had protested that he had no nationality in the first place.) 

If it wasn't for the fact that Castiel felt like he was living a lie (because try as he might to wear human clothes and eat human food, he _wasn't_ human), it would have almost been pleasant. Now he had a better idea of just what Sam and Dean did when there wasn't a hunt or some greater threat to deal with. And more than that, they made him feel welcome. 

Every now and then, Dean would look at Castiel like he still couldn't believe that he was back, and the shine in his eyes was crushing. It made Castiel feel like he couldn't breathe, and yet somehow it wasn't unpleasant. 

And if Sam caught that look on Dean's face, he would just smile as if he was enjoying some personal joke, and then they'd go back to eating popcorn and watching action movies. 

As the full moon came closer, though, Castiel got antsy. He wasn't used to this strange thing called “free time” and the idea of getting back into the hunt set his blood flowing. If he didn't get back to doing something worthwhile, he worried that he'd fall into such a steady bout of lethargy that he wouldn't be able to pull himself out. 

In the hours before the sun set on the night of the full moon, Sam turned to Castiel with a mild frown. “Hold on a second. I know you can't smite or anything, but that means that the angel blade is out too, right?” 

Castiel nodded. It was something that had occurred to him a while back, but he hadn't bothered to bring it up. He felt like he complained enough about his state as it was. 

“So that means that you're weaponless,” Dean cut in, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I used a gun once before,” Castiel pointed out, a slight edge to his voice. They were underestimating him yet again. He was not only made up of divine energy and healing power. He could fight, and he would use tonight to prove that. 

“You're better with a knife than a gun, though, right?” Sam asked. “In that case, we need to get you a silver one. It won't work as well as bullets, but...” 

Dean gave Sam a sharp look, and then the two disappeared out to the car to go through the arsenal kept in its truck. Castiel remained inside, but watched through the window as they argued. 

He felt choked again, and this time it wasn't pleasant. 

Nonetheless, Sam put a silver knife into his hand and all three of them piled into the car and drove out into the woods. Dean parked a safe distance away from the abandoned building, and they hiked toward it, keeping eyes and ears open for any signs of the monster in question. 

They reached the small building, which was completely deserted. Dean shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “I don't like this. If we wait inside there, we're like sitting ducks.” 

“What else are we supposed to do?” Sam pointed out. “Unless one of us hides out here and keeps watch.” 

“Works for me,” Dean said after a sigh. “You wanna do that, Sam?” 

Castiel wanted to speak up, to offer himself, but he knew neither brother would accept that. He felt like he was having his hand held through this entire affair, and it grated at him like an itch. 

Now wasn't the time to bring it up, but when he and Dean were crouching inside the building in complete silence, Castiel couldn't help but break it. 

“You don't need to worry so much about me.”

Dean sighed dramatically. “You serious? You really want to do this right now?” 

Castiel shrugged and tightened his grip on the knife in his hand. “I want to help you and Sam.” 

“Yeah, and you are helping. You're here, aren't you?” 

Dean didn't understand. Something had changed in the way the two of them treated him, and Castiel worried that something might end up lost in the process. Maybe he was being unreasonable, because the fact was that he _wasn't_ an angel anymore, and yet—

“Guys!” Sam's panicked voice cut through the silence, and Dean and Castiel both jumped to their feet.

Castiel fixed his gaze on the front door of the building, and had a perfect view when it splintered open and a blur of fur and claws burst through. The creature was enormous, far larger than any human had a right to be—and this thing _was_ human, in a way. It hunched forward, drooling dirt-colored slobber as it stared at them with bright eyes. 

Had he been an angel, Castiel could have marched right up to it and laid it to rest with a touch. Instead, he felt near-helpless as Dean shot off a silver bullet at it. The wolf dodged out of the way, and the bullet ricocheted around the room. Castiel ducked down and fought to catch his breath, his own mortality hitting him like a ton of bricks. 

But he was not afraid. 

Dean hadn't blinked an eye amidst all of that and instead ran to track the beast down on the other side of the room, reloading his gun as he went. 

Castiel stood up from his crouch, sucked in air that cut hot through his chest, and raced after Dean. 

Right as he ran up to Dean's side, Castiel saw the beast twist toward them. 

He saw the muscles in its legs contract, ready to pounce. 

He saw the gleam of its claws as they jerked forward. 

More than all of that, he saw its eyes pinned on Dean. 

Castiel felt his own foot press hard onto the wooden floorboards as he reached out for Dean's shoulder and shoved him backward. 

Even as he propelled himself forward, to stand between Dean and the wolf, he knew that he would pay for this. Not just in what it might do to him, but because of what _Dean_ might do to him. 

The werewolf crashed into him with all of its weight, but what hit Castiel first was one of its oversized claws, which cut deep, red gashes from his collarbone down his chest. For a split second he remembered the corpse he'd seen, torn apart and heartless. 

As the beast pinned him down, Castiel heard the door open—heard Sam's voice, and then a gunshot. 

But then all he could perceive was bursting pain, a heavy dizziness in his head, and then only black.

\--- 

When Castiel woke, it was—unsurprisingly—to the sound of Dean's voice.

“I _told_ you—”

“Dean, shut up!” Sam cut in, closer and more immediate. 

Castiel opened his eyes right as he felt a pinprick of pain slide through his chest, causing him to hiss. 

Sam stared down at him, full of sincere concern. “Whoa, buddy, you okay? Sorry, I'm stitching you up. We don't have much in the way of anesthetic, so...” 

Castiel tightly clenched his jaw and tilted his head to see Dean hovering nearby, looking as pissed off as he'd expected him to. He breathed through the pain and then nodded. “I understand.” 

“We got the werewolf, though,” Sam continued. “So you didn't take the hit for nothing.” 

“I can't believe I'm hearing this,” Dean snapped before Castiel could say a word. “He shouldn't have been there in the first place!” 

Castiel tried to sit up so that he could properly face Dean and discuss this, but the second he moved both Sam and Dean called out, “Whoa!” in unison. 

“Take it easy,” Sam followed up. “You need to stay still until I'm done with this.” 

Castiel nodded and then closed his eyes when he felt the needle move through his skin again. So strange, how humans patched themselves up with needle and thread, like they were dolls instead of living, breathing creatures. He wasn't a fan of this method. 

“I should have been there, Dean,” Castiel said calmly. “If I hadn't been, you would have—”

“Don't try that bullshit with me,” Dean huffed. “Not after I went through all that effort to keep you safe in Purgatory and it didn't do a goddamn thing.” 

Castiel froze in place, but the truth was that he did want to protect Dean, even now. He didn't like it the other way around. 

“I'm fine. The scratch wasn't fatal, or close to it.” As terrible as he felt, Castiel knew that much. “So don't concern yourself with me.” 

Castiel could practically hear Dean seething, but when the needle pressed in again and drew a pained gasp out of him, Dean neared the bed as if jerked forward against his permission, to look him over. 

“You look like shit,” Dean said. 

“It's fine,” Castiel insisted with a sigh. 

“Are you guys going to go back and forth on this all night?” Sam interrupted. “Dean, stop fussing over him and let me do this.” 

Properly wounded by that, Dean retreated out of Castiel's view. Frustrated as they were with each other, Castiel would have preferred Dean had at least stayed close enough that he could see him. 

Despite it all, Dean's presence was calming. Castiel tried to focus on Sam's concentrated stare as he stitched him up, but it wasn't the same. 

And so he focused on the pain instead. At least it meant he was still alive.

\--- 

Castiel woke up the next morning in a haze. Dean had reluctantly gone out to get him painkillers from the drug store when he hadn't been able to fall asleep the night before, but they had done their job a little too well, knocking him out so definitively that he barely remembered it.

As his vision cleared, he saw that Dean was seated in the chair next to him, where Sam had sat while stitching him. 

Dean didn't look angry anymore, just worn out. He had his hand clamped over his mouth, but when he caught sight of Castiel's open eyes, he dragged it away. 

“Cas,” he said. 

Castiel nodded. “Hello.” 

“How're you feeling?” 

“I'm sore, but I'll be fine.” He tried to shift in the bed, but that only pulled at the stitches, causing him to go stock-still before he slowly eased himself down.

“Look, I get that you want to be a part of what me and Sam have going, and that's fine,” Dean said as he watched him. “That's great, actually. But you can't just be throwing yourself in the way of shit like that. You wanna hunt, you gotta hunt smart. You gotta learn.”

Castiel had been on hunts with the Winchesters before, and as much as he wanted to use that argument, he knew this was different. 

After a long pause, he nodded. 

“Sam and I talked about it,” Dean continued, “and we shouldn't have brought you along on a hunt like that. We've gotta start off small. Either way, you're gonna have to stay behind on hunts until you heal up.” 

Castiel tensed up, but immediately regretted it. He forced out a pained breath. “What?” 

“I mean it, Cas. No buts.” 

Castiel realized that Sam must be in the other room—his own room—and wondered if this had been planned. It certainly seemed that way. “You're not my...” 

“What, your caretaker? You know what? Fuck that, yes I am.” Dean stood up and glared down at him, the anger he'd been holding back bubbling out despite it all. “Cas, listen to me. You only ended up in Purgatory because I made you come with me to take out Dick. That means you losing your Grace is _my fault_.” 

“Dean, no—”

“Say whatever you want, that's how I see it. So I'm gonna make sure you learn this human thing right, and that means no hunting for now. We'll teach you how to shoot a gun eventually, but you've gotta let yourself heal up first.” Dean stood there, shoulders tensed, jaw set, and Castiel realized there was no arguing with him.

Besides, when getting out of bed seemed like it would be nothing but misery, there wasn't much he could do. 

“All right,” he said finally. “Just one thing.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Could I have some more painkillers?” 

Dean stared down at him, mouth slightly ajar, as a wave of emotion passed behind his eyes. He looked, more than anything else, conflicted. 

“Yeah,” he forced out after a too-long pause. He went to his bag and dug out the pill bottle, shaking two out into his hand and bringing it back over with a glass of water. “That should do you for now.” 

With Dean's help, Castiel sat up and swallowed down the pills. They both stared at each other, as if waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, Dean turned on the television and they got comfortable. 

Dean stayed in the chair by Castiel's bedside.

\--- 

It was difficult to listen to Sam and Dean talk about a hunt when Castiel knew he couldn't actively be a part of it. They discussed possible leads while they drove, and Castiel sat in the back, feeling almost invisible. He knew that was petty, because Dean had good reason for excluding him. On top of that, whenever Castiel spoke up with a suggestion about something, it was always considered. He was still allowed to speculate, but active duty was out of the question.

More than anything, Castiel wanted his Grace back, so that he could once again be a help instead of a hindrance, a guardian instead of a liability. Sam and Dean never seemed to mind when they had to do extra work on his behalf. Sam had been cleaning out his stitches and switching around his bandages obsessively every day, and Dean always made sure to order Castiel something he'd like when they went through drive-throughs. 

Sometimes, they even laughed at his attempted jokes. Dean tried to get him to sing along to his music every now and then, but Castiel was wary of his own voice and how it had slowly been losing the gruffness they were all so used to. 

Finally they found a solid hunt, something that they all agreed sounded like a typical vengeful spirit. They got two motel rooms again, and Castiel was forced to stay behind while the brothers set out to do their initial investigations. 

It took only about two hours before he got tired of watching Judge Judy. 

They said they would text him if anything went wrong, but Castiel thought that logic was flawed. How would they be able to text him if the worst happened? He grabbed for his phone and sent a message to Dean, one that took him far too long to type. 

A few minutes later, his phone dinged with a response and Castiel almost fell off of the motel room bed reaching for it. (Which would have been decidedly bad, considering his wounds.)

Dean's reply: _were fine. calm down._

Castiel painstakingly typed back to him: _These phones do have punctuation, you know._

That apparently didn't deserve a response. As Castiel waited for one, he continued to watch television. While he tried to wrap his mind around the next case Judge Judy was handling, he slowly felt his eyes flutter close as sleep won the battle once more. 

And for the first time in Castiel's long, long life, he dreamed. 

He found himself walking down a dark, deserted road, cloaked in fog and flanked by long, spindly trees. It was a road, much like the axis mundi in Heaven, and yet he knew that he couldn't visit home in his state unless he was dead. 

He didn't feel dead. But he also didn't know what a dream truly felt like. How could he tell the difference? 

As Castiel continued to walk, he saw a cabin in the distance. That would have been normal enough if it wasn't for the fact that the building had a banner draped across it, titling it “The Palace of Love.” 

It was so out of place, especially in a dream of his, that he balked for a moment. But there was nowhere else to go, and so he stepped inside. 

A fireplace crackled in the corner, but that was about the only thing that could count as typical about the place. Mainly, it was covered in garish furniture, including a heart-shaped bed. The kitchen was stuffed with different sweets and baked goods, stacked on the countertops and the round table that stood on the linoleum floor. 

The television in the living area displayed writhing, unclothed human bodies, and it took Castiel a moment to realize it was pornography. He stared at it in disbelief, because this didn't seem like any dream he would have. Granted, he'd heard how dreams could be surreal, confusing, and indecipherable, but this was pushing past all that. 

Then, he heard a voice chirp from behind him. “Castiel! Welcome to my own little gingerbread house in the dreary landscape of your subconscious.” 

Castiel spun around to see Gabriel's cheery face, still stuck in that vessel that only partly suited him. (He looked so small in it. Castiel remembered when Gabriel had burned like a thousand suns, when his wings had seemed to envelope all of Heaven's lesser angels. But that was long ago.) 

“You—you're...” 

“A doornail? Yeah, I know. Don't worry, it's not like Daddy loved me enough to bring _me_ back. That honor only goes to you, little bro.” Gabriel stepped forward to clap Castiel on the shoulder. 

Castiel ducked out of the grip, frowning. “Then how—”

“I'm an _archangel_ ,” Gabriel said, more seriously. “Even if Lucifer stabbed me in the back, there's no way an essence like mine can be snuffed out for good. But the only way you and I can talk is in dreams.” He poked Castiel in the chest and grinned. “So, in a way, you being human might just be your saving grace.” 

“How would...” Castiel started to shoot back a response, but then paused. Gabriel had chosen those specific words for a reason, hadn't he. “Saving grace?”

“You got it, kiddo,” Gabriel said, stepping away to cross his arms over his chest, a smug smirk on his face. “I can get it back.” 

“How?” This already sounded like it was too good to be true, and Castiel wasn't about to assume Gabriel would do anything without there being some sort of catch. 

“Are you mentally deficient or something?” Gabriel groused. “Arch. Angel. It means I can do all kinds of cool stuff. We got all the benefits, y'know. Even dental. Well, I mean, until Dad decided he didn't give a crap anymore.” 

Castiel hated conversations with Gabriel for this very reason. Instead of cutting to the point, he padded everything he said with pointless statements and references. “Speak plain,” he grunted. 

“Now, now, Castiel, if you start getting that kind of attitude with me, I'm not even gonna give you the details!” Gabriel shook his head in dismay, but he couldn't hold back for long. “Look, all you need to know is that this dead-but-not-dead realm I'm in? It's where lost Grace goes too. So I can probably round yours up and send it right back into your vessel.” 

“So what kind of price are you asking for?” Castiel asked, not willing to let Gabriel string this out for any longer than necessary. 

“Glad you asked.” Gabriel twirled away from him and moseyed his way into the kitchen, picking up a cupcake. He licked off the frosting and then smacked his lips. “Ahh... Gotta tell ya, even here, this stuff tastes just as good. I'd offer you one, but you're probably allergic to sugar and happiness.”

Castiel didn't say anything. He only pinned Gabriel down with his gaze, as if he could burn holes through him.

Gabriel sighed. “Talk about the stink-eye. Okay, here's the deal, bro. You gotta do one thing, and one thing only.”

“And that is?” Castiel couldn't even begin to imagine. He could barely wrap his head around the way his brother's mind worked, and he got the feeling that was a good thing. 

“Kiss Dean Winchester.”

It was so out of the blue, so sudden, so completely nonsensical, that for a moment Castiel only squinted and stared at Gabriel, wondering if _he_ was the mentally deficient one. “ _What_?”

“I didn't stutter,” Gabriel called back as he moved on and picked up a large, multi-colored lollipop. “Michael's condom, the older Winchester, a serious pain in the ass and I can't even begin to get why you like the guy so much, but you heard me right.” 

“Why...” It wasn't a thought that had ever entered Castiel's mind before. Somehow, the idea of kissing Dean—or rather, of Dean _wanting_ that—seemed impossible. 

But was that really true, or had he only convinced himself as such? He remembered Dean's desperate looks in Purgatory, how he'd insisted time and time again that Castiel would make it back to Earth. He remembered Dean saying “I need you” and not understanding why. And now, without his Grace, Dean still gave him warm looks and tried to get him to sing along in the car and asked him how he slept when they woke up each morning in the room they shared. 

Gabriel was like. Castiel did like Dean. And the thought of kissing him seemed oddly appealing, now that the idea had been put to his head. Maybe he could chalk that kind of desire up to being human as well.

Maybe.

“Easy,” Gabriel said in response to Castiel's question as he took a long lick of his lollipop. “Because I'm sick of watching you two dance around each other like idiots.” 

“You've been watching?” 

Gabriel shrugged. “I get bored.” 

“So if he agrees to kiss me...” 

“Ah-ah-ah,” Gabriel cut in, wagging his finger at him. “There's one rule. You can't tell him what the deal is. Not about our little chat here, not about the stakes, nothing. He has to kiss you of his own volition. We're going to continue with _The Little Mermaid_ trend you've got going because honestly, I'm impressed by how closely you've been following it so far.” 

Castiel tilted his head. “Little Mermaid?”

Gabriel cringed. “Just what movies do those numbskulls show you, anyway?” 

“Does this mean that I can't simply walk up to him and kiss him myself?” 

“Right-o. He's gotta choose to do it, and I'd say that he's gotta mean it, but I think that part's covered already.” Gabriel seemed incapable of not smirking to himself as he said that. 

Castiel sighed, not quite sure he wanted to know. “I understand.” 

“I knew you would.” Gabriel stepped forward and grabbed for Castiel's cheek, pinching it. 

“Stop—” Castiel jerked back. 

“You're no fun. Anyway, when you get it right, you'll know. If your pathetic attempts don't meet my standards, then human you'll stay. Got it?”

Castiel nodded. 

“Good luck, lover boy. Now, I think it's about time that you woke up, wouldn't you say?” Gabriel waved at Castiel and then snapped his fingers.

\--- 

Luckily, Castiel had woken up to an empty motel room, and by the time that Dean and Sam returned, he'd gathered his thoughts enough that they were completely oblivious to the fact that he'd been dreaming about his dead archangel brother.

He needed to be careful, because he knew how Gabriel worked. If he slipped and let Dean in on what had happened, then the whole deal was off, and he was doomed to stay human for the rest of his days. And those days would be numbered, which wasn't something he was used to, either. 

Which meant that in the days that followed, his life suddenly became much more interesting. Which was a good thing. With Dean having put his foot down about him not going on hunts, Castiel would have struggled with boredom if not for this task that Gabriel had given him. 

Of course, that was just an unexpected side effect of the deal. Castiel knew that Gabriel would have never done this if there had been a chance that it might do some _good_. (Or perhaps Castiel was still bitter about the fact that Gabriel had hidden himself from the rest of the Host for centuries.)

While Dean and Sam continued to drag him from motel room to motel room, sometimes finding dead ends and other times finding actual jobs, Castiel got to work. 

The first place he turned was Sam's laptop. He barely knew how to use one, but he had enough time to tinker with it (and he had seen Sam do searches in the past) that he worked out how to get to Google, at least. Some searches about accidental kisses and “how to get someone to kiss you” contained a lot of unhelpful information ( _first, make sure he likes you; then, flirt and let him know you're available_ , and on and on), but eventually Castiel unearthed a few ideas that might have some merit.

What seemed easiest was the idea of an “indirect kiss.” While Castiel wasn't convinced it would count, he decided it was worth a try, and so as the three of them entered a diner for lunch after crossing the state line into Indiana, he made sure to order a bottled beverage. 

“Hey, Mexican Coke,” Dean remarked as the drink was set in front of Castiel. “That stuff's the best.”

“This, from someone who usually refuses to head down into Mexico,” Sam said with a sigh. 

“Dude, I'm sure there are plenty of hunters who can handle stuff down there. Sorry, but the border patrol is not something I want to deal with, especially with Baby.” 

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Well, you really don't have an excuse for Canada.” 

“I like the good ol' US of A. Is that such a crime?”

As the two of them bickered in a way that Castiel had come to almost enjoy listening to, he grabbed for the glass bottle and took a sip of the soda, making sure to wrap his lips firmly around the rim of it. If it looked odd, then Sam and Dean were too busy squabbling to notice. 

Their food arrived and Castiel waited for Dean to take a big bite of his cheeseburger before he made his move. 

“Dean,” he said, as casually as he could, which wasn't very casual at all, “did you want to have a sip?”

Dean looked like a deer in headlights, as if no one had ever offered him anything before, and then fought to swallow his bite of food. “Uhh...” 

Before he could refuse, Castiel slid the bottle across the table toward him. 

Sam watched both of them with an unreadable look on his face. Dean slowly lifted the bottle, and Castiel waited with tensed shoulders as he drank from it. 

There—their lips had touched the same surface. Castiel closed his eyes briefly, waiting for something, _anything_ —

But there was nothing. 

Dean slid the bottle back to him with a small smile, and their meal continued. 

That night, in Castiel's dreams, Gabriel laughed at him. 

“You really thought that would work? You get points for thinking you could trick a trickster, but really, Castiel, you should _know_ better.” 

Castiel just huffed and tried to storm out of the gingerbread house, but the door refused to budge. 

“Never assume you can do more than me, kid,” Gabriel said from behind him, and Castiel swore he could feel all the overwhelming power of an archangel in those words. 

He dropped his hand from the doorknob and turned to see Gabriel grinning from ear to ear. 

“That look on Dean's face when you wanted to share your drink with him was pretty priceless, though. What is he, a twelve-year-old girl?” 

“I don't see how anything he did during that conversation was feminine,” Castiel shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Gabriel sighed and shook his head. “You've still got a long way to go. Well, that's one failed attempt. I wonder how many we've gotta go through before you get this right.”

Castiel didn't dignify that with a response, and when Gabriel got bored of him, he swung the door of his gingerbread house wide open, and Castiel walked through it back into the waking world.

\--- 

The next attempt—as Castiel started thinking of them against his best efforts—came about thanks to television. He'd noticed a trend in many of the programs that came on (and as he recovered from the werewolf scratch, he had plenty of time to watch), which was that oftentimes, an intimate action between two characters happened by chance. They would bump into each other on the street, or one would trip only for the other to catch them.

As unlikely as it all seemed, there was a chance that he could use it to his advantage.

The plan wasn't a complicated one. He made sure to arrange the duffel bag that the Winchesters had bought them to store his clothing in such a way that it would be easy to trip over, and waited for Dean to get back from searching a house for EMF with Sam.

About half an hour later, Sam and Dean showed up, carrying take outs that they'd picked up on the way home. 

“We got you chow mein,” Sam said as he stepped over and handed Castiel a Styrofoam container. “Your favorite.” 

“Thank you.” Castiel stared down at the food, but hungry as he was, he had no interest in it at the moment. It was going to be more difficult to pull this off with Sam here, but he had to at least give it a try. 

He was given the perfect chance when Dean got up to go to the bathroom. Castiel sprung up from his seat and trailed after him. 

“Dean, wait. I wanted to know...” 

Dean paused and turned around, eyebrow raised. The space between them looked about right. 

Castiel stepped forward, intent on his task, as ridiculous as it was. He tripped himself up on the bag and fell right for Dean, and this, this was where their lips needed to touch—

“Ow!” Dean yelled as they crashed into each other, Castiel's mouth smacking into Dean's jaw. And while his lips did touch Dean's skin for a split second, that apparently wasn't good enough. 

Both of them ended up sitting on their beds and nursing their bruised faces while Sam just laughed (after offering to get them ice packs, at least). 

“What the hell did you want, anyway?” Dean asked. 

Castiel shook his head and woefully eyed his chow mein. “It was nothing.”

\---

The next day, Sam dropped by in the morning and told Castiel it was time for him to get his stitches out.

Still in his pajamas, his hair sticking in about five different directions, Castiel stared blankly at Sam for a good five seconds. 

“Oh, hey,” Dean called from the bathroom where he'd been brushing his teeth, “it's baby's first stitch removal! I've gotta be here for this one.” He wandered out with a strangely big grin on his face. 

“I'm glad that my misery makes you so happy,” Castiel said dryly. 

“It's not that,” Dean sputtered. “It's just—it's a milestone, you know?” 

Sam sighed as he sorted through their medical kit. “Dean, you're not helping.” 

Castiel watched as Sam pulled a small pair of metal scissors out of the bag and once again found himself baffled at how primitive the science of medicine really was. 

“Okay, this shouldn't hurt much, Cas, so don't worry,” Sam said. “Take your shirt off.” 

Castiel nodded and carefully pulled his pajama shirt over his head, setting it aside. Then he pulled the gauze off of the wound, revealing a set of surprisingly neat stitches. Sam had done a very good job of keeping the wound clean. “Go ahead,” he said after a pause. 

For some reason, as Sam leaned forward to start the job, Castiel closed his eyes. 

Sam had been right—it wasn't painful. But there was something about it that was worse than generic, unassigned pain, because as Sam cut the stitches apart and then pulled them out, Castiel could feel the thread slide through his skin with almost perfect clarity. 

He clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists. 

Sam stayed quiet, but Castiel could hear Dean's breathing from where he'd stopped to watch. He was hyper-aware of everything, of each _snip_ and the resulting tugging as the stitch came free. 

This body retained wounds. It got hungry. It got tired. It got dirty. These were all annoyances, but more than that, this body would age. 

Castiel opened his eyes and stared down at his hands, resting on his lap. He'd never been bothered by the idea of aging, but that was because he'd never been a part of it himself. Someday, this body wouldn't be able to knit itself back together. Someday it would degrade and decay and there would be nothing left. 

“There! That wasn't so bad, was it?” 

Though as Sam looked up and Dean looked over, they must have caught something on Castiel's face, because both of them frowned in unison. 

Sam patted Castiel on the shoulder and then moved away to go wash his hands, giving Dean the chance to come sit with him. 

“Hey, Cas, you okay? You look like—like, I dunno.”

Castiel always appreciated Dean's eloquence. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “It's nothing.”

“Just like last night was nothing? You've been...” 

“Not myself. That's because I'm not, Dean.” 

“Hey,” Dean cut in firmly, grabbing Castiel by the wrist and then finding his eyes. “That ain't true.”

“I'm not an angel anymore.”

“Yeah, not exactly a newsflash at this point. But you're still _Cas_.” 

Cas, but not Castiel. That was how it felt, at least. Slowly, Castiel worked his wrist out of Dean's grip. “What's going on today?” 

Dean sighed and looked strangely guilty. “Sam and I are heading out to question this guy who might be tied up in the case.” 

Castiel didn't ask for details on the hunts anymore, not unless he was directly asked for advice. The more he heard, the more it stung that he couldn't be a part of it. Though maybe now that the stitches were out, he could open up the subject again. 

Not today, though. Today he was going to lay in his bed and watch television. 

He wasn't sure when he'd become so lazy. Maybe it wasn't laziness at all. How could he even tell? It seemed like something as simple as going outside to get something to eat was an effort, like the days of doing nothing had become an illness of its own that he couldn't shake off. 

Still, when Dean got back, they sat together and played a game of cards. Dean taught him a new one each time that he mastered the rules of the last one, and at this point he had a decent repertoire. 

Normally, Castiel fell asleep first, but this time it was different. He laid awake in bed and stared at the ceiling, thought about his beating heart, his fragile skin, his brittle bones—all things that had once belonged to a man named Jimmy Novak, things that he'd inherited. He didn't want it. He'd never asked for this. He'd never asked for stitches, for fatigue, for lethargy. 

He stared across the room at Dean's sleeping form, his chest moving up and down. He watched as sometimes Dean would twitch in place, or roll over to press his face into the pillow. It would be so unbelievably simple to stand up, walk over, and press his lips to Dean's mouth. 

That wouldn't fix his problem, and yet for a moment, Castiel entertained the idea of doing it anyway. 

He shook his head, closed his eyes, and focused on his own breathing until he finally lulled himself into sleep.

\---

Castiel sat at a table in the cabin in his dreams. Gabriel dropped a cup of steaming hot chocolate in front of him and smirked. “It's not drugged. Promise.”

Castiel didn't touch it. He clenched a fist under the table while he stared at Gabriel and wondered if he would have been better off dying an angel and existing like this, a phantom that could wander through dreams. At least then, he would have kept some dignity. At least then he wouldn't be trying to earn a kiss from the one who mattered to him most to become worth something again. 

“Why the long face?” Gabriel asked after a few seconds, and he seemed almost annoyed. As if Castiel wasn't being entertaining enough. 

“That's a stupid question.” 

“Yeah, well, it's longer than usual this time. Human life getting to you?” 

As if Gabriel would have any clue of what it was like, when he'd spent most of his existence after he'd left Heaven enjoying himself and indulging in his own power, using it to trick and harm people. How was it so easy for him to perch on a pedestal after all that he'd done? Perhaps he felt justified, after sacrificing himself to Lucifer. 

“Why am I here? So that you can gloat about my inability to get Dean Winchester to kiss me?” 

Gabriel made a dramatic bow. “But of course,” he teased. 

Castiel dropped his chin into his hand and let out a sigh as he watched the steam come up off of the mug of hot chocolate. 

“It really shouldn't be that hard,” Gabriel continued as he leaned against the kitchen's doorframe and chewed on a piece of fruit candy. “The guy's head over heels for you, mark my words.” 

Castiel stared up in confusion. “Dean doesn't have much of a tendency to trip and fall around me.” Though it might have been good if he did, since maybe then the accidental kiss would have _worked_.

Gabriel groaned and then jerked his thumb at the door. “You, Castiel, are a disgrace. Get out.”

Castiel stood up and marched to the door. “I don't think I'll be coming again.” He slammed it behind him.

\---

As they drove further into the northeast part of the country, and as they hit the colder months, Castiel observed how more and more often, there would be snow on the ground. Sometimes it was only a thin layer; other times it was just icy. Dean got obsessive about keeping his car in good order—so the engine wouldn't freeze on them, apparently.

Winter taught Castiel much about being human, and most of it he didn't like. He learned about cold, and how it was something that went straight into your bones. Sometimes curling up under a blanket wasn't good enough. The motels they stayed in never had good heating, so he was kept awake, shivering. 

Now he knew why Dean and Sam always wore so many layers. 

But even worse than that was when he started to catch a cold. 

The first thing was a strange itching in his chest. He thought drinking enough water would get rid of it, but then the itching feeling got bad enough that he had to cough. 

Sam and Dean both watched the development of the illness with worried glances, but beyond that, didn't say much. 

“It's normal,” Sam told him, “especially around this time of year. Drink a lot of water, rest, and it'll pass.” 

Castiel had mainly been doing those things already, so how was it supposed to help? 

As an angel, he'd always liked snow, because it gave landscapes a certain serenity. Many times he'd sat on benches and stared at a park or a field covered in snow, and he'd felt at peace. 

Now he hated snow. It was _cold_. It soaked into his socks and pants when he walked through it. Dean yelled at him whenever he tracked some into the car. One time he was walking over what looked to be a solid layer of it, only to sink up to his waist into it. 

Dean cursed and drove him back to the motel and forced him to take a hot shower. 

The worst thing was sleeping. Since he'd become congested, it was impossible to breathe at night, and he was kept up far too late, sniffling and coughing. He blew his nose so many times that it became red and raw. How could so much mucus come out of one human body? He didn't understand it. It seemed impossible, like there was a vacuum existing in each human's nasal cavity. 

(He knew there wasn't. He'd rebuilt Dean's body, after all, cell by cell.)

As they made another long trip in the car, Castiel stared out at the countryside around them, draped in white, and felt nothing but annoyance. 

Suddenly, Dean pulled off of the highway, causing even Sam to give him a bemused look. “Dean? We've got about another hundred miles.” 

“Detour,” was all Dean said as he exited the highway into town. 

Castiel had lost track of which state they were in. Before, he wouldn't have even had to think about it—he would have known. 

They pulled into a parking lot for a restaurant called Biggerson's. 

Sam scoffed. “Dean, I thought we decided to swear off of this place after the whole, y'know, leviathan thing?” 

Dean put the car in park and sighed. “Yeah, smartass, I know. But...” He turned in his seat to face Castiel. “All that corn syrup stuff is a thing of the past, and this place has the best chicken soup around. You eat a bowl of that and it'll fix you right up, promise.” 

Castiel stared back. Could a meal truly burn out the virus in his body? He doubted it, but Dean looked so proud of himself. “I'll... take your word for it,” he said. 

They trudged across the icy parking lot and as they stepped inside, Dean clapped an arm around Castiel's shoulders. It was clearly meant as an encouraging gesture, but what stood out more to Castiel was the heat emanating from Dean's body. It soaked into his side, and he wanted so badly to lean into it.

Luckily, they reached the table then, and Castiel sat down across from Sam and Dean, in hopes of not infecting them with his illness. 

Once they'd all received their food and Castiel had enjoyed the surprisingly pleasant feeling of the warm broth moving down his chest and into his stomach (this was something that wouldn't have been as noticeable as an angel—but if he was an angel, he wouldn't have been sick in the first place), he cleared his sore throat and spoke up. 

“I've been thinking...”

“That can't be good,” Dean interrupted. 

Castiel glared, trying to fit all of his divine wrath into one look. Surprisingly enough, Dean did shift back against the booth's seat slightly. 

“I know I'm ill now, but after that, I should be well enough to start learning more about... what you do. We can begin firearms training, and then I can go with you on hunts.” 

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. 

“Cas, look,” Sam started. 

“This isn't up for discussion.” Castiel clenched his jaw and set his soup spoon down hard on the table.

“Slow down,” Dean said. “You aren't calling the shots here.” 

“I don't understand your reluctance. I'm human now, yes. I think that's been made clear.” Castiel coughed a few times, as if to make a point of that. “But both of you are human as well. If you could learn how to hunt, then so can I.”

“Cas, listen,” Dean said after a pause. “FBI teams work in pairs. It's not a three-man show.” 

“Then we split up.” 

Sam sighed. “We're not going to send you off on your own.” 

“I realize that my intrusion into your... formula won't be easy,” Castiel admitted. “I understand that. But surely I could be of some help. I can't go on, sitting in the back seat of the car, sleeping in those motel rooms, doing nothing. I can't... I don't function that way.” 

Dean stared down at Castiel's bowl of soup, which hadn't been eaten past the first few spoonfuls. “You're not a burden, Cas. We don't mind.”

“Well, I do,” Castiel shot back. “If you won't let me work with you, then I'll figure things out on my own.” 

Both Sam and Dean tensed at that, sitting up straighter. Did they really balk that much at the idea of Castiel trying to strike out on his own? He could do it. He wasn't _incompetent_ , and maybe it wasn't their intention to make him feel that way, but that didn't change the reality of it. 

Dean dragged a hand down his face. “No, no, it's... look, we'll think about it, all right? Just eat your damn soup for now.” 

While that wasn't an outright agreement, Castiel had at least made a dent, which was about all he could expect for now. He nodded and picked up his spoon again, managing to finish the whole bowl. He couldn't deny that once he was done, he felt satisfied, and even a little better. 

“All right,” Sam said once he'd finished with his own meal. “Dean, I'm gonna warm up the car. You deal with the check.”

Dean nodded, and then the two of them sat together for a few moments of awkward silence before Dean broke it. 

“Cas, you don't have to be so hard on yourself, you know. I mean, adjusting to all this can't be a cake walk.” 

Castiel didn't want the pity, didn't need it, but he realized that Dean was trying to be helpful. “I'll feel better if I'm contributing. That's all.” 

“I know, dude. I know this whole thing is killing you, I get it. Sam and I just don't want to push you into anything. I know you don't think about it like this, but you're our responsibility.” 

But he wasn't. They were his responsibility, or they were supposed to be, anyway. Everything had been reversed, and it didn't fit right, just like Dean's clothes hadn't quite fit him. Just like the jacket he had on now was a little bit too big. 

Dean signed the check and then stood up. “C'mon,” he said, “let's go.” 

They walked out together, but right as they reached the door, a light started flashing and an announcement came blaring out of a nearby speaker. 

“Congratulations!” it said. “You're the 1000th couple to walk under the mistletoe this year!”

Castiel and Dean both looked around in a daze as a few of the restaurant's employees ran up to them. When Castiel peered overhead, he noticed a small sprig of mistletoe hanging above them. 

Mistletoe. It was part of the Christmas holiday, though much like the rest of it, there was little to no connection to the truth of God and his angels. It was something that had been picked out and adapted for human consumption, a strange ritual that they enjoyed for reasons unknown. 

But as Castiel stared back at Dean and realized the strange opportunity that had fallen into his lap, he had to fight not to let the excitement show on his face. This could be it—the moment he'd been waiting for. 

As a waitress reached them, Dean eyed her warily. “All right, what the hell is this?” 

“It's a contest that we've started running ever since winter came,” she explained brightly. “The 1000th pair of people to walk under the mistletoe wins a prize!” 

“Yeah?” Dean asked. “What's that?” 

“For a year, you can eat at any Biggerson's restaurant for free!” 

Dean broke out into a grin. “You serious? What are the chances?”

They had won something? Castiel had never won something like this in his life before. Humans had such strange ways of attracting attention to their business. Was it truly cost effective to do this? They probably assumed that the winners wouldn't utilize the prize, but they didn't know Sam and Dean. 

“There's a catch, though,” the waitress continued. 

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “There always is. What is it?” 

“Well...” She eyed the mistletoe above their heads. “It is mistletoe, after all.” 

Castiel shifted in place. This really was his chance. If he could get Dean to agree to this... 

Dean coughed a few times. “You mean—”

“Well, yeah!” the waitress insisted. “Are you really that shy?” 

Dean looked conflicted, likely torn between his dignity and his love of food. Castiel realized that kissing him probably wasn't on the top list of things that Dean wanted to do, but... 

“I don't mind, Dean,” he cut in, turning to face him. “It would be a good thing for you to have, wouldn't it? And seeing how we've already won, it wouldn't make sense to refuse.” 

Maybe it was the cold, but Dean looked oddly flushed. “Uh, you... I mean, you sure?” 

“I know I'm ill, but at this point we've spent so much time in close contact that I don't believe mixing saliva would matter.” 

Dean faltered. “Wow, Cas, you sure do know how to sweet talk a guy.” 

Castiel shrugged. He couldn't lose this chance, but Dean had to make the first move. He stepped in a little closer to him, so that the mistletoe was positioned squarely above their heads. 

Dean looked around and realized that the whole restaurant was watching them. The waitress had taken a few steps back, but that didn't defeat the fact that they had an audience. 

“It's fine,” Castiel assured him. “I'm being sincere.” 

“I—I know, okay?” Dean replied, looking harried. He closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Okay. Bacon cheeseburgers for a year.” 

“And pie,” Castiel added. 

Without warning, Dean grabbed Castiel by the lapels of his coat and pulled him close, pressing his mouth hard against his. Castiel tensed, overwhelmed by the warmth and intensity of it, the taste of hamburger still strong on Dean's tongue. 

Yes. Somehow, tongue had become involved. 

He felt like he was overheating, like Dean's hands on his shoulders were hot brands, but he didn't mind. No, rather—he wanted more. 

Just like that, though, it was over, as Dean pulled back and the restaurant broke into applause. 

Castiel could barely focus on Dean's reaction, though, as he felt a change overtake him. Just like that kiss had sent a warmth spreading through him, stronger even than the soup he'd eaten, now he felt something charged and powerful blooming inside him and spreading outward. 

His Grace. It was coming back. 

Castiel's eyes widened as he realized the display this would make, and he darted out of the restaurant and raced around behind the building as a light appeared under his skin. 

As soon as he was out of view of any prying eyes, Castiel crashed to the ground. The snow was cold, soaking through the knees of his pants. He doubled forward and shook with pain, watched as a bright light erupted him and sent his head buzzing with all of Heaven's wavelengths. 

His back shuddered with an added weight as his wings returned to him, as a vessel that had become wracked with illness was suddenly filled to the brim with a humming power. He thought that maybe he was screaming, because this was agonizing and exhilarating and impossible to fathom all at once. 

Once again, he had all of Heaven's memories trapped inside this tiny form. If he wanted, he could leave this body and travel the stars or even just stand at the top of the Himalayas and look at all of his Father's work. He was so far from human that when he opened eyes he hadn't realized were closed and saw his hands planted flat on the hard snow, he didn't feel a thing. Not a cold so intense it was numbing, _nothing_. 

And it was good. 

“Cas...” 

He heard Dean's voice behind him, and it was once again the voice of someone he could protect. Slowly, Castiel stood up and dusted himself before turning toward Dean.

Dean's face was red and his breaths created puffs of visible air in the cold night. 

Sam appeared from around the building and skidded to a stop, chest heaving. “What just happened?” 

Dean spun around to face Sam. “Cas is a fucking Disney princess, that's what happened!”

Castiel drew in a breath and relished the fact that he no longer needed it. 

“Was that... was that your Grace?” Sam asked. 

Castiel nodded. “It was.” 

“Just like that?” Sam seemed incredulous. 

Dean drew a hand over his mouth.

“Not exactly,” Castiel said. “Dean had to kiss.” 

Sam stared for a few solid seconds before he burst out laughing. “Are you serious?” 

“Yeah, he's serious!” Dean snapped, clearly agitated. “What the fuck, Cas?” 

“Actually,” Castiel started as he moved toward the two, felt his wings spread out behind him and released that breath he'd taken. “It has a very simple explanation.” 

They both looked at him expectantly. 

“Gabriel,” he said. 

Dean sputtered, whereas Sam tilted his head and nodded. 

“You're right,” Sam said, “that does explain it.”

\---

They went back into the restaurant to collect the prize and then for the last hundred miles of their drive, Castiel explained the whole situation of his deal with Gabriel to Sam and Dean.

At the end of it all, neither one was surprised, though Sam didn't seem capable of not laughing to himself about it. Dean punched him in the arm a few times, hard enough to bruise. 

Castiel spent most of the drive enjoying his returned Grace. He wanted to fly, to move ahead and wait for them at the motel, but Dean refused it. Castiel wanted to find the injured and sick, simply so he could heal them. He wanted to track down demons and burn them out of existence. 

Strange—even as an angel, he wanted so many things. 

But he stayed in the car, listened to Dean's music and Sam's laughter and their sibling arguments. 

They reached the motel and checked out two rooms—like always, without even thinking. It was only when Castiel stepped into the room meant for him and Dean that he remembered that he wouldn't actually need to sleep tonight. Dreams were now a thing of the past. 

Dean walked in after him and tossed Castiel's duffel bag onto one of the beds. Castiel stared at it. 

“I forgot,” he said, staring down at the long-sleeved shirt and pants he was wearing. With a flick of his hand, he was back in the suit and trenchcoat. 

Dean startled. “Whoa. Guess things really are back to normal.” 

“Of course. You can keep the clothes you bought for me, if you'd like.” 

Dean frowned and shook his head. “Nah, I mean... I dunno, I kind of liked the other stuff you wore.” 

Castiel tilted his head. “Why?” 

“Well, it's nice to have some variety, right?” Dean explained as he started busying himself with going through his own bag, though it didn't look like he was searching for anything in particular. 

“Maybe.” Castiel took a seat on the edge of the bed that he no longer had to use. 

“You know what I don't get?” Dean asked as he moved into the bathroom to set some of his toiletries inside. 

“What's that?”

“Why did Gabriel want us to kiss? I mean, he's usually a little darker than that, isn't he?”

“He is with those that he thinks deserves it.” Castiel shrugged. “He did it for the same reason he does anything else—he thought it was funny.” 

Dean stepped out of the bathroom, shoulders hunched, looking annoyed. “I don't see what's so funny about it.” 

“Those affected aren't supposed to find it funny. Sam certainly seemed to. Maybe you should ask him.”

“I think he's just glad the trickster wasn't targeting him for once,” Dean said with a huff as he fell onto his bed, shifting restlessly. 

“Perhaps.” 

Again, the room filled with silence. Castiel stared at the television and contemplated putting it on. He'd watched so much of it lately that he wondered if he might be better off doing something else. More than anything, he wanted to make use of his regained power, to make some sort of difference after he'd been languishing in uselessness for what felt like so long. 

But then Dean spoke. 

“So, Cas... I know we talked about you hunting with us and everything, but now that you aren't human anymore, does that mean...” He trailed off. 

“That I'm going to return to Heaven?” Even now, that idea shook Castiel to his core, filled him with a dread he couldn't quite put into words. “No, Dean. My staying was not precipitated on my mortality.”

Dean let out a halfhearted laugh. “Man. I know you're being serious when you start with the big words.”

Without quite thinking about it, Castiel got off of his bed and moved over to Dean's. He still remembered the warmth he'd felt when Dean had wrapped his arm around his shoulders. He still remembered how Dean's mouth had made his own tingle pleasantly. He still remembered the flushed look on Dean's face. 

He wasn't human now. Could he still feel those things? Would he feel them as strongly? He had to wonder. 

Dean eyed him and then stared down at the bedsheets. “I mean... There's still a lot to deal with. We've gotta figure out who pulled you out of Purgatory. We've gotta find Kevin, we've gotta find the tablet, we've gotta put Crowley out of his misery. There's a lot of work to do.” 

Castiel smiled slightly and reached for Dean's shoulder, placed his hand where his brand should have been. “Dean, I know. And even if that wasn't the case, I think... I would stay here.” 

Dean laughed shakily and looked away. “This ain't kiss and tell, you know.”

“What's that?” 

Dean slapped a hand to his forehead. “Okay, never mind, you're staying. You've still got a lot to learn.”

Castiel's smile grew and he settled down further onto the bed. 

Dean turned on the television (it seemed like they couldn't escape it) and they watched together.

When a commercial came on and it wasn't one that Castiel found particularly interesting, he glanced over at Dean. “It wasn't so bad, was it?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Castiel didn't see much point in avoiding the subject. “The kiss.” 

Dean bit down hard on his lip and stared stalwartly at the television. “I wanted the free food.” 

“And I got my Grace back, yes. We both got something out of it, but...”

“But what?” 

Castiel still wanted things. He was an angel, and he still wanted things. He wanted to be here, with Dean. He wanted to sit in the back seat of the Impala sometimes. He wanted to hunt things and be of use. He wanted so much, and sometimes it felt like a burden, but not always. 

He shifted closer to Dean and slowly, carefully, eased toward him. 

Dean didn't pull away, and Castiel kissed him softly and chastely. It was the one thing he hadn't been allowed to do this whole time, as it had been against Gabriel's rules—and it was a nice change, to take matters into his own hands. 

When he broke the kiss, Dean stared at him, eyes searching. Castiel nodded and looked back to the television and said nothing. 

Some time later, Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, maybe it's not so bad.” 

After a while, Dean fell asleep. Castiel made sure to get him under the covers without waking him. He was sure it was still cold, even though he couldn't feel it. 

Nor could he sleep, and yet despite that Castiel settled back onto the bed with Dean and closed his eyes. He let his breathing even out while he listened to Dean's, heard Dean's heart beating in his human chest and heard his blood flow through his human veins. Castiel knew now, just how fragile Dean (and any human) was. How susceptible to the cold, to illness, to injury and everything else. 

That's why he wished to stay. Because now he could keep Dean safe, and lay next to him and pretend to sleep. It really wasn't bad at all. 

Then, as the night grew quieter and Castiel's mind grew blanker, as he felt like he was on the edge of sleep and dreams, yet still so far away from it, he swore that he heard Gabriel's voice somewhere, in his head or somewhere on the celestial wavelengths. 

_Good job, bro,_ the voice said. _You actually did it._


End file.
